


System Status

by Chancy_Lurking



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Cute Kids, Dogs, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Read Author's Note, Retirement, The Machine is a child, with elderly parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold aren’t as young as they used to be – they’d always known it was only a matter of time until they couldn’t handle the Numbers anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	System Status

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jb_slasher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jb_slasher/gifts).



> My piece for jb_slasher! (I know is a million years late, my apologies, things got sketchy i.r.l.)
> 
> Important things to note: “Rush” is the name of John and Finch’s latest dog – an Argentine Dogo, just because they’re pretty and are becoming popular as police dogs (so they could’ve feasibly used him while they were still working Numbers). Secondly, the error/system status codes may be completely wrong, as I used Wikipedia and my own limited knowledge. This is supposed to be a gen story, but it got progressively more fluffy and ambiguous as I went along, so I guess the nature of their relationship is left up to interpretation. Stories are for the readers, not the authors, right? Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

_< System Status Error 406: Not acceptable.>_

In the job that had been bestowed upon them, it wasn’t uncommon to be lied to; that was just the way things worked, dealing with criminals and special operatives and the like. Their lives relied on being able to see through the lies and not get killed in the process. However, it was also imperative that they not lie to each other – that they never feel the need to. If the trust in their relationship fell through, then lives – not only their own – could be the price paid.

“I’m fine” is the one lie Finch is most wary of. “I’m fine” is the lie that ends up doing the most damage; causing the most wounds on the person who uttered it and the people around them. He knew that, had learned to distrust the phrase well, and yet…

And yet when Reese first began finishing fights, wheezing and staggering on his feet to reach the Number and Finch heard the words, “I’m fine” huffed over the com… he hesitated. Yes, Reese could be a tad reckless, but surely he would not let his pride push him to fight himself to death? Surely?

At any rate, Finch trusted Reese, more than he trusted his own gut instincts on occasion. So after a well intentioned argument was completely deflected, he just replied, “If you insist…” and though the words felt wrong in his mouth, “Carry on.”

_< System Status Error 400: Bad request.>_

…It really was, wasn’t it?

*

_< System Status Error 444: No response.>_

They were used to being in each other’s ears nearly 24/7. They were long past the time where they would turn the mics off between reports; it was comforting just to be able to hear the other man on the end of the line, alive and well, as proof that someone, somewhere was watching their backs.

Finch had never had that level of dependency on another person’s well being before. Sure, he’d had people he cared for, people who he could ever so lightly rest his happiness upon. However, there was something more important than happiness resting on his connection to Mr. Reese.

…Which is why at the present moment he could feel his heart climbing up his throat.

“Mr. Reese?” He shouted, staring at the blank computer screens knowing full well the microphone was probably dead, too. “ _Mr. Reese!!_ ”

After what was surely less than a second of radio silence he headed hands first to the key board; punching in code after code, he watched the Machine jump from every vantage point in the area, looking for that signature suit.

Finch could hardly hear over the pounding in his by the third minute. Frustrated and scared half out of his mind, he decided to just ring ever pay phone in a two block radius.

_< System Status Message 302: Found.>_

He pushed answer key with a little more force than needed when his computer pinged that one was connected, “…John?”

There was huffing on the other end of the line before the computer pinged again. His eyes jerked towards the screen and his face fell to something simultaneously alarmed and relieved.

The camera zoomed in on a man in a tattered suit, hunched over a pay phone. It took a moment for him to be able to stand up right, but when he did Reese looked a little wild eyed though he clearly tried to bury it under a guise of adrenaline, “ _Took… Took you… a while, Finch... I was worried_.”

Finch almost couldn’t breathe, “Get out of there.” He gasped, “Run, get out _now!_ ” There weren’t any assailants left, but he couldn’t quite get control of the panic in his voice. He was nearly shaking with it.

Reese stilled for a moment, looking around tensely, “Finch, there’s no-…”

“ _Now!!_ ”

And there was only a momentary pause – in which Reese slowly stood up right – before he replied, “ _Stay._ ”

“Mr. Reese, the cameras are offline, I can’t see-…”

“ ‘m coming…” He breathed, already hanging up the phone, “Jus’ stay there.”

*

Reese limped into the library clutching his wrenched elbow and trembling on his feet. His eyes were a tad more feral than normal, but he still forced one side of his mouth to quirk up, “I got it.” He said breathlessly, holding up the hard drive, “Everything you’d need to clear Bierstadt’s name and-…”

Finch was dizzy when he jumped to his feet, back protesting at the sudden movement, “Mr. Reese...” He gasped, heart thudding in his chest.

The man staggered towards him, “What’s wrong, Finch?” He asked, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice was desperate with a question, a plea he hadn’t even voiced.

Finch never broke eye contact with him as he took the hard drive and threw it haphazardly onto his desk. He grabbed Reese by his sleeve, “ _John_.” He choked, “That’s enough, John, it’s enough, please just-…” And then John lost his legs.

He weighed far too much, even as he tried to support his own weight, for the already physically impaired man to hold him up. Finch stumbled backwards, his grip on the office chair the only thing keeping him from seriously injuring something on the way down.

He landed with a lap full of assassin.

“…‘m sorry, Finch.” Reese breathed rapidly though he tried to hide it in the thick fabric of Finch’s vest, “I think… I think I might be…”

He stopped there, but Finch didn’t have to hear the rest; he understood.

They were getting too old for this…

_< System Status Error 308: Permanent Redirect>_

Finch glanced up when his computer pinged, vision almost blurred enough that he couldn’t see the words.

_< System Status Error 308: Permanent Redirect>_

_< System Status Error 308: Permanent Redirect>_

_< System Status Error 308: Permanent Redirect>_

_< System Status Error 308: Permanent Redi…_

He blinked… then nodded his head in understanding. “Okay…” He whispered, holding tightly to the younger man. He turned to speak directly to Reese, “It’s ok, don’t worry…” He repeated little – but still very important – comforts to someone who would normally joke he was being spoiled, as he considered what they would have to do... later.

Because at that moment, all Finch was going to do was take care of his friend.

*

_< System Status Message 300: Multiple Choices.>_

Finch had, admittedly, not spent a great deal of time thinking about retirement. He’d told Reese very early on that they’d most likely be dead long before the end of their mission. After all, they were already dead as far as most of the world knew. The Numbers would keep rolling in even after they were long gone and then… well, to be honest, there wasn’t really a contingency plan for _both_ of them being dead. He’d thought if he died, Reese would carry on and if Reese died… he’d be in a bit of a pinch; back and incredibly lonely at square one.

But as it stood, it was now obvious, if a bit complicated to execute, what would need to be done to set up a new plan.

Before, there had been The Machine, Mr. Finch, Mr. Reese and co.

Now, there would be The Machine and The N.O.S. (The New Operating System). Not an entirely accurate name, but they were young and idealists and they could choose any name they very well wanted.

In the grand scheme of things, it really wasn’t that hard to orchestrate. If there was one thing Harold was good at, it was finding people – especially those that intended to stay hidden. Call it insider perspective. After collecting Rush from John’s apartment, he spent weeks in a safe house (while John took a well deserved break on a nearby couch) scouring every government database and internet “I-hate-the-government-and-I’m-angry-and-smart-enough-to-do-something-about-it” darknet forum he could hack, trying to put together their metaphorical “Seal Team 6”.

At the end of his search he wound up with a group of about twenty-four candidates that were then, thanks to John’s critiques, narrowed down eleven “potentially qualified individuals”.

“Six and Seven look young.” John said, taking a drink of his coffee.

Harold sighed as Rush curiously rested his head on his thigh, “They’re all young, John, that’s the entire idea.”

“Yeah, but Six looks like an angry teenager. The term ‘impotent rage’ comes to mind…”

“It won’t really be impotent anymore, will it? And at any rate, her control is impeccable; I checked every way I could.”

“Three worked for Interpol? That seems a little risky…”

“He has the specific qualifications we need for my replacement; he worked specifically in cyber intelligence. He covers his tracks better than most seasoned Interpol member, it was sheer luck that even _I_ found him. But sheer luck will _not_ help him find the Machine.”

“Twenty-one is an information risk. She was black listed for looking too deeply into her handlers.”

“That’s not an issue because now she won’t really be looking for her handlers. I have no intention of lying to any of them, so I highly doubt she should feel the need to-… What?” He stopped when he noticed the vacant stare Reese was giving him, “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, how do you intend to _not lie to them?_ ”

_< System Status Error 409: Conflict.>_

That one comment was another day worth of setback.

*

Weeks later, after the selections were done and the candidates had been informed of their new job offers, Finch stood carefully in the threshold of the living room. Reese was sitting on the couch cleaning a hand gun that was currently in pieces across the coffee table while Rush chewed a bone at his feet. A bizarre yet somehow still incredibly familiar feel of domesticity was in the room – all that was missing was the clicking of Finch’s keyboard. Though, for the moment, he honestly couldn’t think of anything that really _needed_ to be done… Well… That was, unless Reese…

Rush looked up as Reese spoke, “Waiting on something, Finch?” He said breaking the man from his thoughts without even looking up from the pistol.

Finch faltered in the doorway before he hobbled over, ignoring Rush’s nuzzle for attention, and sat down on the couch next to Reese. “John.” He said softly, keeping his eyes straight ahead even as the man turned to him.

Reese raised an eyebrow, lowering the gun and cloth back to the table, “Harold?”

There was a brief pause in which the old hacker made several attempts to speak before finally getting out, “I never… I never even asked what you wanted to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I had…” Finch pulled off his glasses, cleaning them in nervous habit, “I had automatically prepared identities that would account for the two of us being together, but I never asked if that was something you would be interest-…”

“Harold.” Said man looked up at the indulgent way Reese had said his name only to be met with a blank face, “Where else is it that you think I want to go?” He leaned back and petted Rush’s head absently a gentle look settling on his face, “In the past decade, I’ve only had one place I constantly get back to and,” He motioned at Finch, “I’m already here.”

 “…Oh.” Was all Finch could manage at that, seemingly pleased, if a tad struck, but this admission, “So then you’d be alright with-…”

“So unless you’re saying that Rush and I are now strays, I would like to know our new names.”

_< System Status Message 205: Reset Content.>_

Finch just stared at him for a moment, appearing just to absorb this information before he began slowly. “Rush can keep his name, but as for us...” The shorter man replied, handing over a file folder, “John Fielder,” He said, “Has been friends with Harold Avocet since they were children. They were separated in college, but found each other after John got out of the service.” He adjusted his glasses turning to face him slightly, “They did some free-lance security and IT work together and, as they have no other family left, decided to retire together outside the city.”

Reese hummed as he looked through his new birth certificate, high school diploma, ID cards and miscellaneous other papers, eventually nodding and closing the folder. “Works for me.” He said with a light smile, “And I’m guessing an avocet is a bird?”

Finch lifted and eyebrow at that.

“I’m beginning to notice a pattern, Mr. Avocet.”

*

_< System Status Message 301: Moved permanently.>_

John was having coffee in the kitchen.

It’s really too early to be awake, far too early for a retired man with no real plans for the day, but John isn’t bothered by it. This was the first time in his life where he can honestly say he was woken up by being too content to sleep.

It’d taken a long time for John would allow himself to finally accept that he was just John Fielder. Initially after he and Harold had moved into the little suburb (and the N.O.S. had successfully rescued its first group of Numbers), he’d had to fight down nightmares and the niggling fear at the back of his neck that made him keep watch well into the early mornings. He avoided all attempts Harold made to try and get to know the neighbors and… Well, to be honest, became a bit of a recluse.

_“I thought I was supposed to appear to be the reclusive billionaire, Mr. Fielder.”_

If he was going to be completely truthful, the only thing that changed that was a change encounter with Joanne – that probably wasn’t a chance encounter at all, but he was willing to look past that.

Joanne was the woman from across the street, the wife of the long suffering mechanic, Louis, and grandmother of nine. When she rushed across the street with a toddler on her hip, claiming some strange man was in her attic and Louis wasn’t home, well… he couldn’t very well ignore her, now could he? Which is how he wound up (after a minor scuffle with two attempted phroggers and a call to the cops) sitting at her coffee table, having cookies and milk with Joanne and her granddaughter, Matilda.

_Matilda – Millie, as she liked to be called – was enthralled with him. “Are you a super hero?” She said around a mouthful of gingersnap._

_John smiled at her kindly, breaking off pieces of a sugar cookie, “Not that I’m aware of.”_

_“Oh, wait!” She covered her mouth with both hands, eyes suddenly wide and fearful, “You can’t tell me or it’d compta-compamise your dentity! You’re not a super hero!”_

_“Coulda fooled me!” Joanne said, pushing on his arm, “Man your age taking down two hoodlums at once? Puh!” She gestured around with her cookie, “No, there’s somethin’ super about you, buddy.”_

_He was suddenly struck by the thought that she quite reminded him of Fusco. A less grating version of Fusco, but still… He shrugged, “The service did me well, I suppose.” He partially lied._

_Millie’s eyes sparkled, “Papa Lou was in the service, too!” She turned to Joanne, “Right, Gamma?”_

_“That’s right, button.” She said, ruffling the girl’s hair, as she turned back to John, “30 years of his life, you’d think he’d be willing to do some lighter lifting. Make himself useful without gettin’ bored, ya know?” She said, putting her chin in her hand and looking out the window, “But I still can’t get that man to help Joey out…”_

_John recognized word bait when he heard it and held in a sigh, “Who’s Joey?”_

_This time Millie chimed in, “Joey Sensei is a dojo master!” She exclaimed happily chopping her cookie with a shout, only to whine and snatch her hand back when it mostly hit the plate._

_“No karate at the table!” Joanne warned, pulling the plate away, “Joey teaches self defense down at the strip center. I’ve been trying to get Lou to go down there and help him for years, but you know what?” She got a suspicious gleam in her eyes, “He’s more adept with guns, while it looks like you, sir, have some serious hand-to-hand training…”_

_John acknowledged the irony in that, but was already standing to go, “I don’t think-…” Suddenly there was a little girl clinging to his arm._

_Millie looked up at him with bright eyes, “You could be a dojo master, too!” She turned to Joanne, “When I get big enough to go to class, I want Mr. John to teach me!”_

_Joanne laughed at the uncomfortable smile pulling at John’s face, “I’m sure he’d make a great teacher.”_

_John could subjected to all kinds of interrogation tactics, had survived countless forms of torture, but no words were ever as effective, in and of themselves, as a “pretty please” face/voice combo of a bright-eyed, hopeful little girl. Harold talked him into visiting the dojo (and the extremely overworked “Joey Sensei”) the next day…_

This morning was just the beginning of one of the days, occurring with more frequency, where John woke up and realized that this was his life. His name was John Fielder and he was living with his best friend – though several of their neighbors questioned the legitimacy of that claim – Harold Avocet. They had an Argentine Dogo named Rush that John walked every morning while walking Millie and several of her cousins to the bus stop. Some days he and Harold walked down to the town strip center and Harold would help at the town computer shop while John supervised at the self-defense studio. Some days they just stayed home, doing whatever caught their fancy like retired (and still very wealthy) people are wont to do.

He had handled the onset of stir-craziness better than he’d originally thought he would (perhaps a true testament to how tired he’d gotten), by target shooting at a range a few miles out of town. Harold had learned to check his instinctual paranoia enough to allow that without having a near conniption every time at just about the same time John stopped needing it as often. He even talked Harold into going once with the agreement that John would later – though the thought might’ve bored him a bit – go bird watching with him.

John thought of all this as he sipped his coffee absently, brain drifting pleasantly through the past few years. The sun was peaking lazily through the white curtains by the time he heard the soft patter of claws coming down the hallway.

“Well, you’re certainly up early.” He smiled gently, as Rush approached, woofing happily.

“Are you speaking to me or the dog?”

John looked up as Harold came to stop in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning on his cane and blinking sleepily. “Both,” He said standing to get another mug, “But Rush has reliably informed me that he’s only up because you are.”

The older man sat down, indulgently scratching Rush’s ears when he placed his head on Harold’s thigh, “I was just going into town to help Mehdi fix some programming issues before his class started.”

“Finch,” John mock chastened, “Don’t tell me you forgot our anniversary? I wanted to celebrate…” He teased, turning around with a mug of tea.

Well, it was half teasing. This was indeed the day they’d become John Fielder and Harold Avocet. In John’s mind, that was more than important enough reason to celebrate, even modestly – like exchanging mutual cards that read “Congrats on not dying this year, keep it up.”

The teasing simply rolled off Harold’s shoulders, “I was unaware people in our situation celebrated such things.” He said easily, looking up gratefully as he accepted the cup.

John shrugged, “Well, Mr. Peterson still thinks we’re married.”

“Yes, but he also thinks you used to work for the IRS.” Harold retorted and was met with a smile.

“He’s not that far off.” Harold paused with his tea half way to his mouth and John laughed, “What? All government agencies do smell pretty much the same…”

“Be that as it may,” Harold said slowly, and amused quirk pulling at his lips in spite his efforts to fight it down, “Are Mr. Peterson’s suppositions your best argument?”

“We’re technically common law married?” He offered, mainly just to get his friend riled up.

“Ah, but mind you, Mr. Fielder, we’re also technically fugitives. I don’t dwell too much on technicalities.” There was a brief silence in which John just watched him mildly before the other man visibly gave in, “I’ll be all yours at two, John. Is that satisfactory?”

If the way his face lit up was any indication, it was very satisfactory. “I’ll walk Millie home from school and meet you at the diner.”

Harold hummed in agreement, then looked up suddenly, “Oh, and if you’re not busy, could you stop by Caddy’s Grocer? I think we’re about to run out of bread...”

“Sure thing,” John stood, “The Machine might not like it, though.”

The man remained seated, but his eyes followed John as he began to make breakfast, “What makes you say that?”

“It messaged me.” He replied, “Said we could save about 16.309% if we just went over to-…”

“The chain store next door, yes, I know.” He waved his hand dismissively, carefully turning to face the laptop currently on the table in the living room, “But the Machine will have to learn that there are some things that _cannot be quantified._ ” He said pointedly.

John chuckled, looking over his shoulder, “Isn’t that the truth…”

_… <System Status Message 101: Switching protocols.>_

*

Harold had just received his drink when the first text arrived.

He’d been seated almost immediately as he approached the diner (wait staff always remember kind old men who tip well) at his favorite seat outside on the porch, under the second to last of five faded plastic umbrellas. If he turned just to the left he could see the front of “dojo” and if he faced straight ahead he could see the park across the street. He settled in, contented with his split tea, to wait for John when his phone buzzed.

_< New Message! ***UNKNOWN NUMBER*** - System Status Error 400: Bad request.>_

He cocked an eyebrow down at his phone, “What request?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Harold glanced up to find a man before him. He was certain he didn’t recognize him from anywhere, much less a town this size. He was a very handsome man; dark hair, blue eyes, and the disarming smile of someone who sold counterfeit anything-he-could-get-his-hands-on. Precisely the kind of person who left civilians behind in a mess that Finch had devoted a lot of his (and Reese’s) time to cleaning up. The kind of person he’d done his very best to get away from. There was no one else out on the patio which unnerved him more than he’d like to admit…

_< New Message! ***UNKNOWN NUMBER*** - System Status Error 400: Bad request.>_

_< New Message! ***UNKNOWN NUMBER*** - System Status Error 400: Bad request.>_

He put his phone face down in his lap when he saw the duplicate messages, “Yes?” He said, trying his best to sound curious and not apprehensive.

His nerves only spiked when the man sat down at the empty chair, “My name is Mathis Coffer.” He said, quickly flashing an ID before shoving it back in his pocket, “The insurance company I work for is-…”

Harold’s trepidation quickly melted into annoyance, “I’m covered, thank you, though.” He cut in pointedly, turning away to indicate he was done with the conversation.

“Ah, but sir, I can promise that the adjustment rates we offer are significantly-…”

“Mr. Coffer, if that is your name, which I highly doubt, I assure you I am quite content with my current plan.” He sipped his drink (which he’d watched very closely during this exchange), “However, I have a point of advice, if you will. Running a scam in a small town? Terrible move, on your part. Everybody who looks at you knows you don’t belong here, you stick out like a sore thumb without even trying this nonsense…”

Coffer looked affronted, drawing himself up as he pointed at Harold, “Now see here, that is completely-…”

“He said he’s not interested.”

Harold smiled before he even looked up.

John, even in his old age, did not appear to be someone a (very likely, untrained) conman wanted to trifle with. The appearance was only strengthened by the 115lbs of Argentine Dogo at as his side. “Mr. Coffer” realized almost instantly that this wasn’t a situation he wanted a part of any longer judging by the pallor of his face when he turned around, “Oh, no, I was just-…”

“I don’t believe asking him again would do you any good.” There was a pointed threat in that sentence and the scammer got the memo, quickly standing and walking away.

“They just don’t make them like they used to.” John joked, taking his seat across from the old hacker.

“Honestly!” Harold agreed, genuinely insulted. He then looked up into the security camera over the front door, “I’m old, not senile. You don’t have to warn me about insurance scammers.”

_… <System Status Message 101: Switching protocols.>_

There was no response except John’s laugh, “It’s just looking out for its favorite Admin.”

*

“An orchestral performance in the park?” Harold asked, as he lowered himself gingerly onto the bench at the edge of the gravel walkway, “Well, it does appear that it’ll be a mild evening…”

“Thought you might like it,” John smiled easily as he sat beside him, “Though I have to be honest, wasn’t completely my idea.” He admitted as he leaned to unhooked Rush’s leash, allowing the dog to mill about the area.

Harold raised an eyebrow at him, “Is that right?” And when John just hummed in response continued, “Then who do I have to thank for this part of our evening.”

“Mr. Jooooohn!! I’ve been looking for you, I have a- _Rush!_ ” The little girl’s attention redirected as the dog ran to her, stopping just short of knocking her over.

Harold smiled as she rolled onto the ground with the dog before following happily as he trotted back towards the bench, “Hello, Millie.”

“Hi, Mr. Harold.” She grabbed onto his knee as she clambered up to sit between them, “How’re you?”

“I’m doing well,” He replied, “I suppose you invited us out this lovely evening?”

She hummed in agreement, “My big brother is playing some stuff by this guy Bach? And since Mr. John told me you liked old music, I thought you might wanna come.”

Harold laughed and responded “Well, I guess I _am_ old” at about the same time John said rather sheepishly, “I believe the word I used was _classical_.”

But Millie just giggled in response, and John couldn’t do much but sigh. They sat for a few minutes, Millie chattering about school and the dojo and Harold – despite John rolling his eyes – began to teach her Pi. The little girl stopped in the middle of her recitation of the numbers when her mother beckoned to her from across the park, calling out happily to John and Harold as she did.

“Oh!” Millie hopped down from the bench as they returned the waves, “I forgot!” She started riffling through her little backpack, “We’re celebrating Show You Care week at school… and Mrs. Williams said that sometimes, if we care about someone we should do things for them. And if we really, _really_ care we should do things that show that they’re special an’ so…” She smiled up at John, extending a small bag of (slightly melted) M &Ms, “I only give my sweets to the peoples I love, ok?”

Harold smiled fondly as John ruffled her hair and said, “Well, thank you, Millie. That’s very nice of you.”

“I have one for you too, Mr. Harold.” She rustled through her bag to pull out another bag.

He laughed and kissed her hand as he took them, “Thank you, Millie.”

She giggled again before dropping to let Rush lick her cheeks while she petted him, “No chocolate for you doggie!” She was up and running in the next breath, “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Mr. John! Bye-bye, Mr. Harold!”

There was a pleasant pause in conversation as they watched the little orchestra set up on stage. They were almost finished when John leaned over, “I didn’t say you liked old music.”

“Are you calling a six year old a liar?”

“I’m calling a six year old, _a_ _six year old_.”

Harold laughed a little harder than necessary as the orchestra began to tune.

*

“I’m not sure how you talked Lionel into sending Lee to bring us food…” Harold said, waving as the young man drove off.

“Lee is much fonder of us than Fusco.” John said closing the door as the car rounded the corner, “I just said it was our anniversary and he was more than happy to stop by. He was on his way to visit a friend, anyway.” Harold sighed at that, though it was more amusedly long suffering than annoyed.

They sat down to eat then, falling easily into their dinnertime routine except for Harold’s favorite take-out in placement of home cooking. The TV was quietly tuned into something neither of them were actively watching and Rush was enjoying his all-natural, more-expensive-than-the-big-name-brand dog food under the window. They chatted absently, but mostly the room was filled with a comfortable silence. It wasn’t until they were about to have desert (a rare occurrence, but hey – they were celebrating) that John suddenly looked up, sitting his fork on the side of the plate.

Harold paused his eating to look at him curiously, “What is it?”

John didn’t answer. He just smiled and slid his pie across the table.

“…Oh.” Harold looked a little surprised, but still chuckled shaking his head as he slid his parfait in return.

_< System Status Message 200: Ok.>_


End file.
